<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>You're my only way out by bowblade</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30004224">You're my only way out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowblade/pseuds/bowblade'>bowblade</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Viper's Kiss [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:15:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,716</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30004224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowblade/pseuds/bowblade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Amélie has a recurring nightmare of her first order from Talon, but Ashe won't let her be alone. A moment to look back, and move forward - together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Viper's Kiss [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You're my only way out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>opens up my folder of wip ideas and ouihaws just keep falling out</p>
<p>something of a bridge to what i'm going to write next for them (a heist!), and chronologically follows on from <i>Cabaret</i> and <i>Even if it makes you cry</i> and references them a fair bit, but it's not entirely necessary to read them first (but if you would like to, please do!).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Do you know who this is?"</p>
<p>She can't remember the last time someone spoke to her. How long it's been. The light of her room is sterile and fluorescent, unchanging; the gloss of the photograph near blinding as she tries to look at it, just as she's told.</p>
<p>"Yes," she says. It's a familiar face, of a lifetime ago. "They have to die."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>- - - -</p>
</div><p>It's always the moment after she wakes that's the hardest.</p>
<p>Asleep. Not. The <i>uncertainty,</i> that perhaps it was over; that Ashe might be gone and she'd be back in that <i>cell,</i> repurposed and reinstated.</p>
<p>Amélie is quick to open her eyes after that, needing to <i>know,</i> taking in her immediate surroundings in spite of the dark. Assessing. She can still hear, can somewhat see that which is nearest to her… can still <i>feel</i> the soft linen sheets of her lover's bed and the warmth Ashe exudes, her arms lazily draped around her middle and leant against her shoulder, as always.</p>
<p>Still here. </p>
<p>Finally she breathes. It's not the first time, not even remotely close to the second time that this particular nightmare, this <i>memory,</i> has plagued her. The first thing they'd asked of her, when they were sure she was broken. The first decision <i>Widowmaker</i> had ever made, his final breath hers for the taking—</p>
<p>She could blame it all on Talon.  But it was her that had wanted <i>more</i>.</p>
<p>No. She's tired. She doesn't want to think about this. She doesn't <i>want</i> to remember. She just wants to close her eyes and go back to sleep, far away and safe in Ashe's embrace…</p>
<p>
  <i>( "They have to die."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Not right away," Moira coaxes. "You have to smile, and nod; you have to pretend that you've come back. Can you?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>She nods.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>She doesn't smile.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It's a work in progress. "It will do, I suppose. After the ordeal they've imagined for you, I'm sure they will easily forgive any imperfections." )</i>
</p>
<p>Amélie exhales. Wrong choice. The memory is all too clear behind her eyes, happening all over again. Ever since she chose to stay in Arizona it's been a regular occurrence; a nightly <i>terror</i>, as it's only now that it frightens her. Supposedly. Theoretically. <i>Actually.</i> She wouldn't consistently be dreaming about it if it didn't.</p>
<p>She isn't foolish enough to think her ties to Talon so easily, utterly severed, but she hadn't accounted for… this. Her dreams had always been empty, nothing, but now they had <i>something</i>, that mattered. That they would not leave alone. She knew why. She knew <i>what.</i> </p>
<p>And although it was rooted in memory, some details changed. The photograph was the heart of it. Always the photograph, and who has to die. Sometimes it's Gerard, as it was. Sometimes it's Ashe, as they desired. And sometimes—</p>
<p>Sometimes it's herself. </p>
<p>She isn't certain which of them is worse. Only that she wanted them to <i>stop.</i></p>
<p>There will be no return to sleep. Not now. The bed is suddenly too confining, and her reluctance to pry the slumbering outlaw away from her waist isn't enough for her to remain. She looks at her. Her <i>weakness.</i> Ashe's jaw is slack as she breathes, in and out, and she's dreaming, peacefully. About things that she wants. Things that she gets. Amélie hopes that she's in them.</p>
<p>And not like… hers.</p>
<p>It's difficult, having her let go. A sleeping Ashe was far more possessive than a usual one, and clingy; she mutters objections in her sleep as Amélie takes herself away, and the soothing hushes and  gentle kiss upon her forehead as she departs only do so much to satisfy her, but asleep Ashe remains, as Amélie intends.</p>
<p>There's not far to wander and nor does she wish to. The chaise is where she goes, perhaps the most significant change in furniture arrangement since her arrival, as before it was elsewhere, and now it's by the floor length window, for her benefit. She drops down upon it with all the grace befitting a dancer and tucks her legs at her side, taking up as little space as possible as she reaches for the curtain, pulling it back just enough so that moonlight washes over her face. It wasn't her windowsill, wasn't the <i>same,</i> but she made do.</p>
<p>Amélie sighs. She misses Paris.</p>
<p>She missed Ashe more.</p>
<p>Strange, what love made you do.</p>
<p>It's not home yet, Deadlock Gorge. She doubts it ever will be. Home was not so much a place anymore, but a person, and it was not a choice she ever had cause to doubt. So many outcomes… and the choice the both of them had made together, to run, to <i>stay,</i> happening as they should. Maybe someday her demons would no longer follow, and she could see Paris again. Maybe they wouldn't. For now, it's fine.</p>
<p>If only her subconscious could be so easily convinced. It was so… <i>infuriating</i>, that her freedom did not extend past her waking hours. Serves her right, for regularly drifting off to sleep in Ashe's arms.</p>
<p>She really, <i>really</i> must love her.</p>
<p>She glances in the direction of the bed again, to affirm she's still there. To ground herself. It's the last thing she expects for Ashe to be upright, looking right back at her. Oh. Not as successful as she'd imagined it, with leaving her to her dreams. How long has she been watching? Amélie isn't able to tell, and they regard one another, the silent acknowledgement of her stare at last prompting Ashe to speak.</p>
<p>"The usual?" she asks, quietly.</p>
<p>Amélie's eyes flicker downward. The sadness wells in her chest, because Ashe <i>knows,</i> and there's no reason to lie. </p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>Ashe doesn't move. Not right away. Deciding what she can see, what she wants from her, and it's not to talk about that which she can't <i>change,</i> again. What she does need is company, and next she knows Ashe is at her side, inviting her, and it isn't long until Amélie leans against her, safe, <i>sound.</i></p>
<p>For a while Ashe doesn't say anything. Just holding her. Listening to her breathe. </p>
<p>"Moon's back," she says absently. She's looking out the window, at the sky. "Guess it has been about that long already, huh…"</p>
<p>Amélie shifts, to see. Bright and full, just like when she first came here. Paris was longer, their time apart less, and she hasn't thought to count her days since because she isn't <i>waiting</i> for the order anymore. It came. She rejected it. Deadlock had been equally static the last month, but it wasn't on her account. They were still moving things on and lying low, waiting for their next opportunity, and it was different. She didn't have to leave, didn't have to report and hold a ruse. They did not expect her to <i>kill</i> on their behalf, didn't expect much of her at all, really. Likely Ashe had told them to give her space as she adjusted.</p>
<p>There's an opportunity, she knows. To fade away to Amélie. Amélie, girlfriend of the Calamity, wanted outlaw… not exactly the most idyllic of retirements. Here was danger still, and Ashe would never force her to be involved, keeping her business and pleasure separate. It wasn't part of the deal, that she <i>had</i> to be involved with Deadlock.</p>
<p>That was just it, though. <i>That</i> Amélie was gone, and Widowmaker would not wither. Could they co-exist? <i>Should</i> they? It's not as though she could forget. She still knew these things, even if she did not need them the way she once had, a part of her identity, what she could do; her self-liberation had never been about letting them wane. She still knew the most efficient way to kill, disarm, to use whatever weapon was at her disposal, her own hands. She still went to the firing range out in the gorge and never missed. She'd sometimes scale the warehouse interior for no other reason than because she could, a spider stealthing away to its web.</p>
<p>Perhaps she ought to contemplate her further choices, about what she wanted her role to be, here.</p>
<p>It's enough introspection, for now. Instead she focuses on Ashe. She's already restless. Playing with her hair, she realises, because she didn't reply – framing her face in different ways as her fingers tease through it. She likes it when it's down, like this; <i>beautiful,</i> she's said. She doesn't mind her doing it. It's quiet. Nice.</p>
<p>Ashe briefly pauses, aware of Amélie's complete attention and caught between her roguish grin and fluster, as Amélie's looks are nothing if not intense. She's gotten better at occasionally slowing down, Amélie thinks, waylaying a smile of her own because she knows that's her influence, and that it's for her. Because it's what she needs right now. </p>
<p>"What?" Ashe asks, as Amélie loses the fight against the smile.</p>
<p>"Nothing," she says, tracing Ashe's collarbone with her fingers. "Just you."</p>
<p>"Yeah?" </p>
<p>She sounds pleased, intrigued. Amélie can tell she also really wants to know what's spurred it, but she keeps her mysteries.</p>
<p>"I was thinking," Ashe continues, when it's clear Amélie isn't going to elaborate. "I know there's not much I can do, but if there's something – if you <i>wanted</i> anything – then I'll get it for you. Even just to take your mind off things. I could ask Bob. Late night bakery run, or whatever."</p>
<p>The smile widens. Amélie knows she hates the inaction, at having to settle with something, at having no sway. But she's trying. Soothing what she can, and it's… endearing. She doesn't doubt she has the means to get her anything she wants, and would, but she's too many steps ahead with her example, and her fingers pause. "Bakery?"</p>
<p>Ashe shrugs, the movement of her shoulders having Amélie rise as well. "First thing that came to mind."</p>
<p>Amélie looks up at her again. Now that she considers it…</p>
<p>"You were a frequent patron of the bakery by the Cabaret," she muses. "Was that the real reason you went?""</p>
<p>It's a gentle tease – she knows with certainty that <i>isn't</i> why – and it lands as intended, as Ashe laughs. "Hey, those were <i>good</i> eating," she objects. "Did you know I waited eight hours for dessert from the hotel kitchens one time? Didn't even get an apology. Figured I might as well cut out the middle man and do it myself… or ask Bob, if I was otherwise occupied."</p>
<p>She didn't know, even if Paris stories that didn't involve her were few and far between. She's also rambling, but Amélie has never minded – she likes hearing her talk, especially about the everyday things. The inconveniences. What irked her, what didn't. What she absolutely couldn't possibly continue to live without. She has always been so open with her, right from the beginning.</p>
<p>She still isn't sure if she deserves it. But she's past second guessing it.</p>
<p>She sighs. "I'm sorry," Amélie says. "For waking you." It feels rather belated, but necessary. That Ashe cares is not, never an entitlement – that she <i>must</i> be here with her, after her nightmares.</p>
<p>Ashe shakes her head, slightly. "Nah," she says, fingers skirting across Amélie's hairline as she smiles. "I'd much rather you were there with me. And you don't have to apologise. You <i>know</i> I'm happy with this."</p>
<p>She does. She can see it, in her easygoing smile – sleepy, satisfied. Maybe <i>this</i> was what awaited, after getting what you wanted.</p>
<p>Amélie moves, just enough so that she can better kiss her, and Ashe sighs, her contentment catching. For a while they kiss; chaise cushions knocked askew, working through favoured angles. Eventually Ashe gifts a final one before leaning back – she looks wretchedly tired, fighting with wanting <i>more</i>, but choosing to save it, now that they're not borrowing time.</p>
<p>"Better?"</p>
<p>Amélie considers. "Distracting," she says, which could well equate to being the same thing. Ashe snickers and yawns, a hand over her mouth as she stretches, and there's a distinct impression of fondness in Amélie's sigh as she begins replacing the displaced upholstery – but just as quickly as she started she stops, stumbling upon something entirely different.</p>
<p>It's ironic. Laughable, really. Of all things it's a photograph, scuffed and frayed, discarded between pillows until the next time they were dislodged. Amélie half expects it to be <i>exactly</i> as she recalls it to be until it isn't, not hers at all.</p>
<p>It's Ashe's though. Younger. <i>Free.</i> Her hair longer, which suits her, and still with her same unfortunate taste in attire, which also did. She was smiling candid, telling a joke, her counterpart laughing at it. Amélie doesn't know the other, not at all, but she <i>recognises</i> him, from other recruitment meetings. Sombra had liked to ask Reyes about him a lot. Constantly. A piece of Blackwatch left entirely unaccounted for… and unlike Ashe, one they hadn't elected to eliminate.</p>
<p>Jesse McCree.</p>
<p>Ashe has always insisted otherwise. But she can tell, from the look on the younger Ashe's face, as to how <i>attached</i> she was. It doesn't matter in what way. That at some time he was the place she <i>belonged,</i> and she finds herself frowning.</p>
<p>The Ashe of the present is still yawning, unaware. Or was. She's leant against her arm in an instant and making to swipe her find the next, all because she's curious, and Amélie gives no resistance. </p>
<p><i>Instantly</i> she changes. The outlaw scowls, a hard line forming beneath her brow, and for a second there's something else, something altogether more <i>complicated,</i> but then it's gone and she's just Ashe, irritated.</p>
<p>"Surprised this one didn't make it to the dartboard," she says through gritted teeth, handing it back to Amélie so that she doesn't have to look at it anymore. "Piece of shit still owes me a damn bike…"</p>
<p>She's fighting with it, her anger. Where she was tired now she's just <i>furious,</i> and whilst she could be collected when things were going her way and she was in control, Amélie already knew firsthand how much that wasn't true when they weren't. Didn't matter which emotion it was. The <i>hurt,</i> she knew. She had caused plenty of her own. But the unfiltered anger—</p>
<p>Contained, not. Overflowing, <i>everywhere. </i></p>
<p>Not just Ashe's. She feels… bothered by it, the younger Ashe, what it meant. She can't decide. Is she annoyed at his betrayal on her behalf? Or was it something else?</p>
<p>Either way her frown deepens, brimming with it, and Ashe catches on before she does.</p>
<p>"Oh, that's a <i>look,"</i> she remarks, pushing her own emotions aside in favour of that which was far rarer. "Y'know that's dangerously close to jealousy, Amélie."</p>
<p>"I'm not," Amélie says. Conveniently. Evenly. She doesn't need to feign defiance, because she <i>isn't.</i> But she remembers prior desperations, of needing Ashe to look at <i>her</i> and not anybody <i>else</i>, of her face lightning up when she sees her, and it's not about wanting that fury but about wanting more, wanting that connection, that <i>time.</i></p>
<p>Dancing on a stage. Heir to a fortune. A future to reasonably choose, like anyone else.</p>
<p>Gone.</p>
<p>She looks down, at the younger Ashe. "It's… I wish that I had known you, long ago."</p>
<p>Ashe sighs at her side. "Trust me. You don't," she says quietly, wringing her fingers. "It's better that it's now. Besides, weren't you married?"</p>
<p>It slips out, and she doesn't correct herself. She probably meant to say <i>different.</i> Not this. Not an assassin.</p>
<p>"Yes," Amélie says, returning the photograph to its rightful place, forgotten and folded away. She has plenty of her own to carry. "And I was happy."</p>
<p>Ashe looks at her, as she says it. Thinking. Desperately wanting to be enough.</p>
<p>"And are you happy now?"</p>
<p>Amélie knows it. That loneliness behind her words. </p>
<p>How <i>terrified</i> she is, of her answer.</p>
<p>It moves her. More than she is able to understand. "I'm with you," Amélie says, reaching for Ashe's cheek so that she <i>never</i> has to doubt it. "And that's close enough."</p>
<p>There will always be times, when it's too much. When the sadness returns. But she doesn't have to <i>be</i> sad. Not anymore. </p>
<p>Not now that she has her.</p>
<p>The outlaw grins, somehow more solemn, a hand over her chest as she blinks her fear away. "Aw," Ashe says. "You love me."</p>
<p>Amélie rolls her eyes. "Don't push it, <i>cherie."</i></p>
<p>But she smiles as she kisses her, all the same.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>